It does not matter where you are if you are in the nothingness of Buddha land. Nine erstwhile Dharma Bums gathered at a railway yard down on 15th Street to sip saki and huddle around the once-bright flames of their misspent youth. They spoke quietly, often in haiku verse:
Dick Arms: Ommmmmmmmm..... Ommmmmmmmm.... [Editor's note: Last night, Prof. Arms had hopped the Midnight Ghost from Mazatlan and was apparently still under the influence of unspecified psychoactive alkaloids.]
Charlie: He can write. Much of his writing strikes me as writing by narcissistic, arrogant youth. It is all contradictions, e.g., asceticism vs sex and drugs. The theme: we are so smart, and we are the first to figure this out, and only we can tell you about it. C.
Mike: I cannot recommend this book to others. The hitchhiking and hopping freights and the strong body climbing "the Materhorn was an interesting look at our lost youth, but as an introduction to Buddhism, it is superficial. I can recall the comment from when we read On The Road [Aug 1998; #204 on The List] that "Typing ain't writing" but I did not realize we had Truman Capote to thank for that. What can I say? It is a C book but I partook of enough wild Pacific cedar-board cooked salmon to raise my grade to B-
Ken: I tend to agree with the two previous comments. I enjoyed his descriptions of backpacking [rucksacking] and hiking. I have no interest in his religious experiences. I found much of his dialog confusing. C+
Bob W: C - I thought it was sophomoric. Trying to be pretentious, but failing. Technically, he is good, can write well at times.
Dick J: I agree. Parts were wonderful, and other parts I wanted to kill him. I will not pass this book on to my nephew in Utah. B-
Ron Bousek: The question occurred to me: How did this book get published? It would not be published today. This was a period piece, an introduction to Buddhist terminology, but it was different for its time. The literary style is interesting, sophomoric. Some parts were good, some parts were poetic, some parts were not good. Typing rather than writing! Read it to understand what literature was like in the 50s, and it is of interest for the mid-1950s. I give it a B-
Tom G: From time to time, we read literature about the Big Questions of Life: Why are we here? Where did we come from? After some attempts to answer such questions, most intelligent beings move on to those parts of Life which are answerable, pragmatic. I give it a C. He had the ability to write.
Keith: I've seen the original manuscript of On the Road - it is so scurrilous, so full of profanities, that there is no comparison to the published work. [offers Raspberry] I agree, he is a good writer. The last few chapters put me in mind of Edward Abbey. Grade: C. I offer this haiku revu of the 5-7-5 variety for yu:
Buddha say, "Pray, Ray!"
Dharma Bum... "Zen, Zen" - and then
Buddha Booms... AMEN !!
[Editor's note: Poet Laureate offers: Ode to Japhy on his web page here]
Bob S: Why I chose this book: I am a student of history and literary style. This was a moment in Time when cultural shifts in America were captured by an eye-witness to it. I tried to look at: What is Literature? Or is this just typing? I take away: in this, there are elements of both. I liked "My Old Man and the Sea" which was a daily journal, and I liked The Song of the Sirens that connected to the author's love of sailing and the sea. I'm connected to Buddhism. I went through the 60s, I see how it has evolved over time, and still evolving today. We are attracted to the literature of those cultures we have an affinity for. I found this book interesting from a historical viewpoint. It was fun to see that it was no big deal, just "out there" writing. It made a connection to the culture. For better or for worse, it was well done and had its moments of illumination. I grade everything as A or A-, and this is A-.
and from well outside the Nirvana of the night:
Unlike last year at this time when I was holed up near Bloody Marsh on St. Simons Island without shoes, this year I am still without shoes, but staring out over the sound watching the countless Buddhas hiding in the trees along Driftwood Beach on Jekyll Island. Days have tumbled on days, I have been in my shorts, haven't combed my hair, haven't shaved much, have consorted only with dogs and cats and an occasional seagull, I have been living the happy life of childhood again. Taking time to read The Dharma Bums this past week seemed to interfere with my quest for nirvana and my search for a Yab-Yum partner.
Kerouac appeared to me to use two different narrative styles as Ray Smith recounted the year he spent on his "quest for Truth." I enjoyed the more pastoral segments related to his time in North Carolina and Washington than I did reading about his time doping and boozing in California. At times I got the impression that he was taking a tongue-in-cheek approach to his descriptions of his spiritual quest as he wrestled with Buddhism. For me, Kerouac's descriptions of nature are the most powerful and in my opinion, they reflect his talent as a writer much more than the philosophical aspects of the novel. I tend to believe the "philosophical final statement" he included in an autobiographical sketch in 1958 was already in play in The Dharma Bums: I DON'T KNOW. I DON'T CARE. AND IT DOESN'T MAKE ANY DIFFERENCE." B+
Regards, Jack
No comments:
Post a Comment